I did not even plan to attend
This party. Instead I wanted to spend
The evening at home, alone with a book.
Yet here I am now, and all that it took
Was my friends insisting that I had to come,
Saying ‘there will be plenty of femme;
A sexy Godiva, or a pretty French maid,’
And ‘we’ll have a ball at this masquerade.’

I have to admit that my friends were quite right.
I haven’t had so much fun in one night
Since that weekend last month, with a girl that I met.
(Tho’ I’m sure she’d prefer me not mentioning that.)
We came as a group but soon we dispersed,
Some driven by lust, others by thirst.
I love my friends – they’d say the same,
But hunting alone always yields the best game.

Thus I danced with a nun who was ready to sin;
Had a tête-à-tête with madame Guillotine;
Tried kissing Nell Gwyn, who acted demure
Until I gave my phone number to her.
With pale Lady Bathory, shrouded in black,
I shared some red wine and a savoury snack.
Marquise de Sade, wielding a whip,
Promised me pain – but that’s not my trip.

Later, a Greek nymph went limp in my arms;
And yes, I confess I fell for her charms
Outside, in the gardens, with no one about.
We frolicked awhile before she passed out.
Yet moments before she was moaning with pleasure
As I took to exploring her precious treasure.
I left her there, snoring in the warm breeze,
A smile on her face, grass stains on her knees.

Now, tired and sated, my last joint I light;
Thinking it wasn’t such a bad night,
And having decided ’tis time to withdraw
As the hour is late, I stop in awe.
A barefoot angel, one wing askance,
Gives me a coy smile, as if by chance.
Such luscious mouth! Such lovely eyes!
’Tis useless attempting my want to disguise.

Stunned and speechless I try not to stare,
Admiring her bosom and fiery hair;
Her cute little toes and her rounded hips;
But above all else the shape of those lips.
My heart’s all aflutter, and what is more,
With all limbs of my body I yearn to explore
This heavenly creature. I cannot resist
Her pouting lips which beg to be kissed.

My mind is blank, my mouth is dry,
And all I can say’s an inadequate ‘Hi?’
As I approach the angel, doing my best
To sound coherent, and sod the rest.
She looks at me, smiles again, reads my desire,
When a foppish matador in gaudy attire
Intrudes upon this our most private game
And gets her attention. Has he no shame?

How could she even have noted his stare
As he prances about with a haughty air?
He’s slight and effeminate, and for Heaven’s sake,
Even that pencil moustache is fake!
But wait! ’tis a girl and not a man.
My angel’s contrived a cunning plan.
Her smile’s for us both, a bold invite.
Perchance we will have an interesting night.